Five Times Alex Krycek Bummed a Ride

Fandom: X-Files, Supernatural, Highlander, Roswell, Angel

Category/Rated: NC-17

Year/Length: 2008/~11,111 words

Pairing: Alex Krycek/John Winchester, Methos, Dean Winchester, Michael Guerin, Lindsey McDonald

Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit, only having fun.

Summary: Five momentous occasions when Alex had to hitch lifts, and the repercussions that ensued.

Beta: marys_scribbles who was both fast and accurate. Many thanks go to her.

Ride 1

The road was empty, and the day was drifting toward the inevitability of evening. The sun hung low, casting an oily sheen on the wet pavement and a red glow low on the horizon as Alex walked westward.

He hoped that he wouldn't have to spend another night out on the road. The days were warm enough as long as the rain held off, but the nights were a different matter. Alex wasn't too keen on roughing it, even though he'd done his fair share. Still, maybe he'd get lucky and get a ride, always supposing someone actually decided to drive down this godforsaken road.

He'd just crossed the border into Maryland, leaving Newark behind and heading towards the quaintly named Rising Sun. He'd stayed off the main roads, knowing that the Consortium drones would be out looking for him and determined to survive. He'd be fucked if they caught him, considering their attempt just a couple of days ago to blow him up. He wasn't going to let them get him, because he was better than they were, no matter what that smoking bastard thought.

He was shivery and light-headed, and the thought rose unbidden that they'd hooked him on something. Well, he'd have to go cold turkey, because there was no way he could expect a doctor's help right now, even if what they'd given him was a known drug. He suspected that wasn't the case.

He trudged on, backpack getting heavier with every step, and after a while it started to rain again, a fine drizzle that soaked his hair and ran down the back of his neck.

It was dark when he heard it — the full throated sound of a V8 engine, distant still but coming towards him.

Praying to whatever god might be listening, Alex raised his arm, stuck out his thumb and kept plodding on.

It seemed as if the car was going to drive past him, but it slowed and stopped a few hundred feet ahead of where Alex was. His fatigue temporarily left him as he ran forward; hoping against hope that the driver wasn't one of those that thought it funny to wait til a potential rider drew alongside and then drove off again.

Drawing level with the car, he could see that it was a sleek, well maintained classic, the bodywork black and gleaming despite the rain, and the engine purring the way he imagined a tiger would purr, low and heavy. Pulling open the passengers' door, Alex clambered in, offering up thanks to the skies as he managed at last to get out of the weather.

The interior of the car was warm, and the radio was on, playing the Eagles. The driver turned to look at him, a half smile on his face.

He was maybe in his forties, the man behind the wheel. His face had seen weather, and there were lines on it that showed hardship and a fierce determination that Alex could relate to. The voice, when he spoke, was almost as deep as the car's.

"You look a little damp. Toss your bag in the back, and there's a towel on the back seat you can use if you want."

Alex gasped out his thanks and took advantage of the offer. There was what seemed to be blood on the towel, but Alex was armed. This shabby looking dude with the weather-beaten face and the hot car wouldn't know what had hit him if he were to try any rough stuff. He was hot though, Alex thought - the kind of guy that would break beautifully if it came to any kind of scene. With that in mind Alex decided to wait and see what came up before going for his weapon.

He grinned. "Thanks for the ride, man. How far are you going?" All the way, he hoped.

The man thought for a while. "Aiming for Cumberland, PA in the next 24 hours. That do you, or you want to try the next ride?" He paused. "I was going to stop at the next motel and get some sleep. I've been on the road all day, and I want to get home to my boys in one piece."

"You've got kids?" Alex didn't care one way or another, but it was something to talk about. "What took you away from them?"

"Business." The answer was as much of a shutdown as Alex had ever heard. He was about to make some sort of placatory comment when the man gave a sigh. "It's hard when work takes you away from your kids, but I guess you gotta put food on the table. I left them with a friend of mine while I was out of town, but I can't wait to see ‘em."

"How old?" It was more for something to say than because Alex cared. He was starting to get warm, and with the warmth of the vehicle came drowsiness. This was the life. If Alex could ride with the man into Pennsylvania, perhaps the Consortium wouldn't get him after all.

"Dean's almost twenty." There was a smile with pride in it as the man began to talk. "And Sammy's sixteen. He's a handful, you know how kids that age are? He's always arguing and smart as a whip. You can't put anything past my Sammy. And he's growing like a weed. Dean's different. He ain't stupid, but he's… thoughtful. I guess you could call him thoughtful. He does what he's told, and he does it well. He's going to be better than me some day."

"You sound like you're proud of them." Alex was drowsy, almost asleep, but he summoned the response from somewhere, not wanting to appear rude and lose the ride. "I can't see me ever settling down and having rugrats."

That made the man behind the wheel laugh, a rusty sound - as though the laugh wasn't often used. He suddenly gave Alex a grin, and ten years dropped from his appearance right there. "John. John Winchester. How do you do?" he murmured.

"I'm Alex. Alex Arntzen." There was no point in giving his real name; he wasn't going to be taking this ride for long, and you never knew when you'd have to fade away.

"Pleased to meet you, Alex." There seemed to be honesty in the man's tone, and Alex, who was close to being done in, felt himself relax. Okay, so maybe he was wrong, and he'd wake up lashed to one of the syndicate's stainless steel tables, but he had to sleep, and this smiling man with the sons he was so proud of seemed safe to him. He'd barely thought that before he was snoring, limp and done for, head lolling against the angle made by door and seat.

He woke to someone shaking his shoulder and scrambled back away from the intrusion, falling into a feral crouch, hand groping for the gun he had stashed in a holster on his ankle.

"Easy… easy, tiger." The deep, certain voice of his erstwhile chauffeur permeated the panic that had filled his brain, and he focused for the first time since waking.

"What?" He was still cowering, somehow pressed into the corner of the seat, next to the door.

"I got a room. Thought you might want to stretch out and sleep. You looked really uncomfortable in the car like that." The rich, deep voice was mild, and there was a slight, knowing smile on the handsome face. "You can feel free to sleep in the car if you like, but you really should consider the bed."

"I…" Alex slowly uncurled himself and emerged rather sheepishly from the Impala. "Sorry. Guess I was having a bad dream."

"I saw that." John was grinning openly now. "So are you coming?"

Stumbling to his feet and stretching to unkink his spine, Alex nodded and followed him wordlessly into the room.

In the dark, it was easy to step into John's space, easy to be held, calmed and petted, then fiercely loved. John's lips were demanding, his body hard and solid, comforting as they lay together and did not sleep.

When Alex dressed in the morning and silently left John's bed, he felt a pang. Stepping out onto the highway, rested and anxious to be on his way, he filed John's face in his memory. He had the registration number of the Impala. One day he'd find John again and thank him, but not today. Today he had to get as far away as possible.

Extending his thumb as he heard a vehicle approach, Alex prepared to run again.

Ride 2

The car that drew up was a sleek, hunter's green affair, very different from the equally sleek Impala. This car was a Jaguar XJS, and the man who drove it was lean and thoroughbred as a greyhound.

"You going far?" The accent was English, and the driver's face was smooth, amused, shrewd eyes flanked a nose that was generous enough that Alex's eyes instantly strayed to his crotch, seeking possible confirmation about the correlation between nose and penis size.

"All the way over to Seattle, I hope," Alex murmured, hoping that he could make at least the next state before sundown.

"Hop in," murmured the man, smiling faintly. "I'm going up into Seacouver, so I can take you almost all the way there."

In a way, this car was as full of personality as the one from his previous ride, but the man driving it was very different from John. He was dressed in much the same way as John had been, in jeans and a henley, but the clothes weren't battered the way John's had been; they were very obviously new.

The driver gave Alex a momentary smile as the double agent settled down into the passenger's seat. "Hope you don't mind the radio. I need music when I'm driving." Shaking his head, Alex reassured the driver.

"I like music, too. What is this? Some kind of sixties pop channel?" The sound of Van Morrison singing "Here Comes the Night" filled the car, and his companion nodded.

"I liked the sixties. There was something about it. It felt like a new beginning somehow." The man's eyes were on the road ahead, dark and inscrutable. Alex studied his strong profile for what seemed like an eternity, attempting to read him, but there were no clues. Finally, he sighed.

"Name's Val. Valery Arntzen," he said, extending his hand.

"Adam," said the stranger, offering his for a brief handshake. "You're Russian?"

"Parents were," replied Alex, smiling. "I was born in Pasaic, so not too much of the old country has stuck. My babchi tells me that I'm a sad, sad boy, because I don't have all the language down pat."

"So what do you do now, Val Arntzen?" Adam gave him an amused stare, and Alex felt his belly suddenly flutter with the warmth of that gaze. There was something about this man — something that tugged at him on a visceral level, and Alex found himself blushing.

"I… I'm a student," he murmured. "Criminology, third year. You?" Best to get the man talking about himself, he thought. He didn't want to end up having to try and remember the lies he'd told. He was starting to sweat, and he knew that he needed to score soon, or he'd have the shakes too, and he wondered if they'd pause at a rest stop soon for long enough to shoot up.

"Actually, I'm a doctor," Adam said, smiling. "I don't have a practice right now, though; I've been pursuing some studies in Paris for the last few years, and now I'm going home."

A doctor, thought Alex, feeling the first tremors in his hands. That might not necessarily be a good thing. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and leaned back against the leather of the seat. "I'm sorry. I'm… really tired. Was walking for a long time. Hope you don't mind if I doze a little."

"Feel free." The car ate up the road, and Alex feigned sleep, too strung out to actually drop off, but doing his best to appear unconscious.

Quite some time had passed when he felt the car slow down and stop, and then a gentle hand shook him. "Don't know if you want a pit stop and a bite to eat. I'm going to eat breakfast. I'm starving."

"Good… good call," mumbled Alex, wondering if he looked as bad as he felt. He itched horribly, but he didn't want to scratch in front of a doctor, in case the man might put two and two together and come up with the right answer. "Thanks. I'll get breakfast too, but I need the can first."

He stumbled out of the car, calling to Adam that he'd see him shortly, and made for the privacy of the bathroom. Once established in a stall he quickly grabbed his water bottle, his spoon and his lighter and began to cook up his dose. He had very little left, maybe another couple of days worth, but for today he'd be able to function, and once he was on the plane to Hong Kong it really wouldn't matter any more. He'd be rolling in dough and he could vanish into the woodwork far better than any rodent he'd ever come across.

The rubber hurt his skin, but he got a vein up at last and gave himself his shot, stowing the paraphernalia away with a sigh of relief. He bit his lip as he felt the drug hit his system, forging fiery bliss through veins that craved it as it cleared his head. He was whistling jauntily when he strode into the diner and looked for Adam.

"Always good to wash the sleep out of your eyes," he murmured, taking a seat and ordering the breakfast special. He'd ordered tea as well, and as the server brought it, he smiled at Adam. "I'll feel almost human once I eat."

"Human is good," said Adam, smirking as the server brought their food over. "You still look a little flushed, Val. You okay?"

"Huh? Yeah, never better," Alex murmured. He gave Adam what he thought of as his cock-sucking smile and lowered his lashes, promising with his eyes whatever the man cared to read into his expression.

The journey was going to take more than a day. They were still sixteen hundred miles from Seacouver, and Alex saw no reason to pay for a room, when Adam would have a perfectly good bed and was kinda hot besides. He set himself to charm the doctor, and was gratified to notice the telltale signs of interest in his companion. He could build on that. He would build on it.

The evening rolled around, the inevitable darkness folding over the Jaguar as they drove, and Adam began looking for somewhere to stop for the night. They'd been chatting since the truck stop, and Alex was thinking that he would be in with a chance of at least sleeping in a bed overnight. He fixed Adam with his best ingénue stare and fluttered long, sinfully thick lashes at him. Adam rose obligingly to the bait almost immediately, his amused look giving Alex only momentary qualms.

They spent the evening in the bar, swapping stories and drinking beer. Adam seemed to like beer, and Alex would drink anything if it was free. He was tipsy when they went up to their room, and he lurched into Adam, reaching for him.

"Is it true what they say about big noses?" he asked Adam, splaying his thumb over the doctor's jaw and tipping his head to angle it for a kiss.

"In my case, yes," smirked Adam, taking over and owning Alex as he took his mouth and ravished it. Alex thought that he was good in bed — he'd been trained to watch for cues and exploit them. But this man was a master, and it was mere moments before he was lost — gone and desperate in the other man's arms — relishing the positive correlation between nose and dick.

When Adam was done and Alex was sprawling, spent and exhausted, the doctor looked down at him and ran his fingers over the needle tracks in the crook of his elbows. "You don't need to do that. Why did you start?" he asked Alex, frowning, and Alex felt the bottom fall out of his stomach as the words twisted into him like needles.

"I… I… How did you know?" murmured Alex, his voice hoarse with the aftermath of orgasm.

"Are you kidding? I know. I'm a doctor; how wouldn't I know? You've got tracks on your arms; you were sweating and strung out and desperate until you vanished into the men's room. When you came out, you were hyper and slurring your words. It doesn't take much of a brain to notice that kind of thing."

There was nothing that Alex could say to that, so he didn't waste any words, he merely allowed his eyes to drift closed, shutting out what he knew would be the condemning stare of the man who had just stripped him bare of all his artifices and left him looking at himself and for once disliking what he saw.

Finally, he glared at Adam. "Didn't stop you fucking me, though, did it?"

The smile that Adam returned was somewhat wry. "I don't often do anything you might consider altruistic, but I like you, Val. You seem like a nice kid. Let me help you get off the stuff."

Alex flushed, his mind wishing to regain control even as his body began to crave another fix. "Listen. I have to be in Hong Kong in three days time, or my life is gonna be worth zip. Once I get back…" He swallowed, suddenly nervous. "Would the offer still be open?" he asked.

There was a pause, and then Adam nodded. "I'll give you my card," he murmured, slow and deliberate, his English tones making the words sound more important than they should have been.

As Adam dropped him at the Cathay Pacific terminal the following day, he had the doctor's card in his wallet, along with the precious data tape, and he thought that the world had finally decided to be kind. Once he'd got the money due him, he'd be back to see Adam and kick this habit or die trying.

Ride 3

He was so tired of running. It seemed as if it had been years since he could afford to stop looking over his shoulder. The vagrant who had stumbled on his prison and unlocked it for him, releasing him from the confines of the missile silo had come almost too late. Alex had been in a pathetic state by then — starving, and dehydrated, he'd managed to subsist purely on the trickle of acid tasting water that ran down one side of the silo wall. He'd been dozing against the door when it had been opened, and had fallen out at the hobo's feet, scaring him shitless.

Now he was running, desperate as he tried to put space between himself and the place where his life had almost ended. He was still really hungry, although he'd found a farmhouse and broken in just to raid the fridge and had stolen a half empty jug of milk and the remains of a roast chicken. He was scared out of his mind, with visions of the Syndicate coming to find him and throw him back into the darkness. His fear lent him energy even though by rights he should have fallen, exhausted, long before now.

He'd found a road, and was walking along it, hoping against hope that the next vehicle to come along would be civilian rather than military. It felt as though he'd been walking for hours without seeing even a bicycle pass him by.

His legs were starting to seize up by the time he heard the throaty growl of an engine coming up fast along the road behind him. He didn't stop walking, but he held out his thumb, desperately needing to get out of here, but almost at the stage where he didn't care who came along if it meant he could rest.

The shiny black Chevy that pulled up alongside him was driven by a young man with a pair of the most incredible eyes, huge and green and luminous. Alex felt himself shudder; he couldn't help it.

"Where you going?" The voice was deep, and there was a gust of warm air from the car.

"Anywhere away from here," he croaked, his voice rusty from screaming. He was amazed when the young man didn't immediately pull away at the sight of him. He was aware that he looked crazed. His face and clothing was filthy, his eyes bloodshot, and his hands bloodied and bruised from pounding the door in his futile efforts to escape.

"C'mon then, man. Hop in, and let's get rollin'," said Mr. Green Eyes, and Alex did as he was told, practically falling into the car and collapsing onto the passenger's seat.

They took off, and Alex settled back against the door, wondering why this car seemed vaguely familiar. All at once, he got it. Memories of a dark haired, sturdy man with a beard that was just growing in and a deep voice saying, "Dean's nearly twenty and Sammy's sixteen…" This couldn't be Sammy — he was too old, so the young man with the brilliant eyes and the lush lips could well be Dean. He blinked, trying to see if there was any resemblance between the young man and John, the man who had given him the ride after Cardinale had tried to blow him up with their car.

He wanted to say something, but he was too exhausted to do more than yawn, lulled by the sound of the engine and the warmth inside the car. Before he knew anything further, he was asleep, snoring softly as he slumped in the corner beside the door.

He was awakened an indeterminable time later by his chauffeur shaking his shoulder. They'd stopped at a gas station that had a diner beside it, and the kid was cheerfully calling him back to consciousness.

"Dude, it's breakfast time. You want anything?"

"I don't… Alex fumbled in his pockets looking for anything resembling a wallet, expecting that Mulder would have relieved him of it while he'd been absent, held captive in his own skin by the thing that had invaded his body. To his surprise, it was still there — stuffed mostly with small denomination Hong Kong dollars — but after riffling through them he did manage to locate around thirteen dollars US. That would be enough for him to eat, so he gave the kid what he hoped was a pleasant smile and staggered out of the car, stretching to ease the kinks in his spine.

"I need to go wash… got something really nasty in my mouth, and that place left me filthy." He punched the kid's shoulder in an amicable way and received a nod in return. Heading over to the diner together, Alex wondered what the hell had happened to him. He'd been in the airport when Mulder had caught him, and then he'd been subjected to something that seemed to whisper to him that he needed to give up and let go, even while it closed him off from his senses.

The mens' restroom was at least clean, and Alex washed his face and as much of his body as he could. He'd been covered in some kind of oily residue, and the smell of it made him nauseous.

As clean as he could make himself, he ran a comb through greasy hair and then turned to go and join his chauffeur in the diner.

"I'm Alex," he announced as he slid into the booth opposite the other.

"Dean," murmured his companion around a mouthful of sausage.

Alex nodded. He'd called it, and he somehow almost thought that he knew Dean, although of course that was totally impossible. "Pleased to meet you, Dean. Thanks for yanking me out of that hell-hole."

"Welcome," said Dean, as he stuffed a pancake into his mouth. "What was that all about anyway?"

"Some fucker shut me into a missile silo and left me there to die. It was… Oh, God, I don't even know how long it was before I got out. Some hobo opened the door, and I managed to get out of there. I was in a bad way, but I managed to scramble free and found a place… a farm. I broke in and drank some milk, found some meat in their fridge. Then I hit the road and you found me." Alex knew he was babbling, but he didn't seem to be able to stop himself.

Breakfast came, and he ate, ravenous despite the meat he'd found earlier. Dean apparently had a healthy appetite too, and it was a while before the two of them sat back, sated at last.

Alex kept to himself the knowledge that he'd met Dean's father. He saw no reason to give up any possible advantage, even if he couldn't see how he might use it yet. As they climbed into the car again, Dean was laughing at something he'd said, and Alex decided that he didn't care about who was related to whom; he didn't care about anything. All he knew was that he needed to lick those crinkles that radiated out from the corners of Dean's eyes when he laughed, and that he wanted to know the taste, the feel of Dean's mouth.

He stood for a moment, dry mouthed and wondering, because for once this wasn't about expedience. This wasn't about sex as commerce; this was about need — a need so visceral that he had to fight his own desire to reach out and caress, take, own.

Dean was bound for Tucson, and Alex was anxious to go somewhere — anywhere he wasn't known, so he asked Dean to take him all the way, and inside his head he decided that he would reciprocate, because if he didn't get to take Dean all the way as well, he would throw in the towel. Dean had paused at a Target they'd passed, and he'd managed at least to get himself some clean clothes on his credit card, and although he was still desperate to shower, he felt somewhat better for being able to discard the foul, oily rags he'd been wearing.

They hit Nebraska by the end of the first day, and Dean found a motel where Alex was at last able to shower, then they hit the local bar. There was a juke box, and a pool table, and Alex strolled over to the table, surreptitiously eying up the locals as he began to rack up the balls. When Dean's eyes lit up with unholy glee, he felt his belly melt down, felt his breath catch and knew that they were going to get together.

At the end of the evening and between them more than a thousand dollars richer, the two of them stumbled out of the bar and over to the motel, singing happily. True, they had a slight difference of opinion over the lyrics to "Nothing Else Matters," but the two of them ended up with their arms around each other as they tried to unlock the door. Dean was giggling to himself as he harmonized with Alex, their surprisingly tuneful voices weaving together as he tried to get his key into the lock.

"Damn door keeps on moving," he slurred, closing one eye and bending to get a little nearer the keyhole.

"Gotta hate that," said Alex, amiably, lurching as Dean moved and put him off balance. "Lemme try."

"'S'my key. ‘S a sacred trust…" The key finally met the lock and slid inside, and Alex let go of Dean, applauding as the other man pushed the door open.

Indoors, they stumbled around for a short while, washing up and getting themselves ready for sleep. Alex sat on the edge of one of the beds watching Dean as he sprinkled salt around the doorway. He had a smile on his face, and he was still humming a tune that might or might not have been "Enter Sandman" as he watched the other man's progress.

"You got the ketchup handy?" he asked, a laugh in his voice.

"Shut up!" Dean was at the giggly stage, and he turned around with a laugh to toss a handful of salt at Alex. Alex protested, lurched up off the bed to bowl Dean back and all of a sudden they were kissing, mouths suddenly avid, hard against each other as the salt was forgotten.

Carried back onto the bed by his companion, Alex wrapped himself around Dean, laughing against the other man's lips. "Oh, yeah," he murmured with a sigh and went for broke. His tongue slid into Dean's mouth to find and taste all it could. He found Dean's tongue, ran his own along it, caressing it and tasting beer and nachos and Dean, the sudden need making him shiver, because he wanted Dean so badly.

His hand, which was cradling the back of Dean's head to hold it steady, slid down to one shoulder, sneaking under Dean's arm to yank up his T-shirt and splay against his back — broad, flat and singing with the slide of muscle beneath satin skin. Dean was laughing as he drew back to study Alex's eyes. "I'm not gonna break," he purred, arching up so that Alex could feel it, the solid presence at Dean's groin, pressing against his own and igniting the need that had been smoldering at the back of Alex's thoughts all day. Bolts of shivering lust shook him, and he dove back down to find and maul those sinfully pretty lips of Dean's again.

Smiling so wide that it made his cheeks ache, Alex licked along Dean's chin, running his tongue over raspy stubble. His belly was heavy with need, and his cock was so hard it hurt. He found that he was suddenly trembling with an urge to fuck so intense that he thought he might pass out.

"Gonna let me in?"

Opening his eyes wide, Alex took in Dean's amused gaze, felt his stomach flip out all over again as he studied the half smile that quirked Dean's lips. It was cocky, yes, with dark knowledge that spoke to something primitive in Alex and quickened his breathing until his chest was laboring with the effort of getting enough air into it.

"God, yes." The words tripped from Alex's tongue without him even thinking about it. He fumbled for Dean's belt, started pushing his jeans off, his body prickling with goose bumps as fine tremors shook him. Pushing away from Dean so that he could raise himself up onto his knees, he skinned out of his own T-shirt, felt fingers on his groin as Dean began to push down his boxers, and heard a low, muttered, "Very nice," as his cock fought its way free of clothing and sprang into the light.

He looked down at Dean, licked his lips and reached for his undershirt, hauling it off over Dean's head with a single minded intensity of purpose that he ordinarily used only for killing. Dean's eyes had darkened, and he was scrambling to get himself out of his jeans as Alex rose to step out of his own pants, almost falling in his eagerness to get naked.

Bare at last, Dean reached to yank Alex back down, rolling him, kissing him, his mouth hot, wet and bruising as it demanded a response. It got one. Alex's heart leaped, and the resulting surge of arousal made him pliant in Dean's arms as he was placed down on his back. He didn't usually allow himself to give in like this, but, damn, he was tired and horny, and his nerves were still jumping from the silo, and he felt like he needed to find something to erase that. He felt like his skin was full of bees.

"I won't break either," he said, voice husky as he spread his thighs apart under Dean. "Wanna feel real again. Make me feel real."

"Oh, you're gonna feel it." Dean's voice was rich and deep, his voice dripping like chocolate onto Alex's abraded nerves. Alex raised his knees and slid his heels around the backs of Dean's thighs.

"Come on. It's not rocket science. Birds do it, bees do it…"

Dean snickered then, reached down to touch, all too briefly, and then felt for his jeans, pulling out the wallet and finding a sachet of lube and a condom. "Gimme an F," he murmured, slipping his fingers between Alex's buttocks to find the pucker and circle it with one slippery digit.

Relaxing as much as he could, Alex felt the penetration, and reached to spread his own buttocks apart as he circled his hips. "I can take more than that," he whispered.

"Gimme a U." There was a grin on Dean's face, white teeth flashing in the low light from the lamp. A second finger entered Alex, and they curled up to find and stroke him in exactly the right place.

There were no words from Alex, just a moan and a buck of his hips, and Dean laughed a little, pulled out and added another finger, slipping back inside easy, teasing and stretching as he watched Alex's face. Something he saw made him frown, and he bent his head to suckle at the tip of Alex's cock, forcing a sharp explosion of sound from him as a jolt like summer lightning crashed through him, forcing pre-come to ooze, drip, sharp smelling and arousing.

Dean seemed to want to keep doing what he was doing, and Alex was going crazy, wanting to thrust into that hot, willing mouth as Dean pressed him down. He wanted to struggle, to take the lead again, momentarily uncomfortable with the amount of control Dean seemed to want. After a few moments, Dean appeared to sense that, withdrew his fingers, pulled away from Alex's cock, and began to tear at the condom wrapper.

"Gimme a C," he growled, sliding it on and stroking more lube onto the sheath as he gripped himself around the base of his cock. "You ready?"

Alex nodded, and all of a sudden, Dean was there, right there, stretching him, filling him. The burn told Alex that his new lover was a big boy. A big boy with a deep, dirty voice. "Gimme a K." The words were spoken softly, and Alex laughed, a harsh explosion of sound as he felt Dean slide home.

"Fuck," he gasped, and Dean smiled approvingly.

"That's exactly right," he agreed, as if somehow Alex had just solved a problem or won a prize. "Gonna fuck you good."

Dean was good at what he did, but so was Alex, and he responded to the snap of Dean's hips with his own buck and grind. Unsurprisingly, it didn't take long before they were both moaning, rhythm stuttering as each closed in on his own orgasm.

The release, when it finally hit, sent Alex spinning, brain whited out in the delicious surge of pleasure that flooded him. He was dimly aware that Dean was there too, heard him say something that sounded like, "Sammy," as he collapsed down onto Alex's chest to lie gasping.

When it was over, when the two of them were lying together, both trying to regain their equilibrium, Alex turned his head to Dean and smiled. "Who's Sammy?" he asked, knowing full well who Sammy was and wondering what Dean's answer would be.

There was an unmistakable flush on Dean's face as he answered. "Just someone I used to know." He mumbled the words, and Alex knew that, while Dean might have told him the truth, there was more to the story than that.

There were no confidences coming from Dean after that, and he didn't mention Sammy again. They parted company just outside Phoenix a couple of days later, and although Dean kissed him hard, he didn't offer a number, and when Alex walked away he knew that it was forever.

Ride 4

Purity Control was a bust. Fort Marlene had promised so much and yet when it all came down to it, all he'd brought away was a mean sense of satisfaction from seeing how Marita looked now.

"Served her right. The bitch shouldn't have stolen my security." He was in a filthy mood. He'd been counting on getting the embryo, and his tentative, fragile alliance with the resistance fighters was going to fall apart now, and all because he'd gotten there a moment too late.

Someone had the embryo, and although he'd told Jeffrey that it had been the rebels who had taken it, he was almost convinced that it would turn out to be his nemesis, Spender, in which case he was up shit creek without the proverbial paddle.

A helicopter was coming, he could hear it, see the lights approaching, and knew that Spender junior, or possibly Marita, had given him away in order to curry favor and escape. Sighing, he dove into the hedgerow, ignoring the mud, the thorns, and the stones that were there in plenty.

He was wearing black, and that helped. The helicopter circled, hovered for a while before moving on to cover the next bit of the road. He remained prone, hugging the earth despite the bramble that had worked its way into his coat and was now firmly embedded in the back of his neck, willing the goddamned helicopter to crash. By the time it had finally peeled off and disappeared, he was soaked through, caked in mud, and frozen, not to mention bleeding from several scalp wounds inflicted by the bramble.

It was pouring, and it was dark — black as the hubs of hell, he thought, morosely. He plodded on, muted fury that the MPs had found his car with his surveillance gear and his change of clothes. It seemed as though he was destined to plod along one highway after another, forever and ever, a-fucking-men.

It was around hour three that he heard the sound. Rich and throaty, the growl of an engine grew behind him, and he was by this time so cold and hungry that he decided that he would stick his thumb out rather than rolling into the ditch beside him.

The rain was fine, wetting him thoroughly despite the fine wool of his coat. He was bedraggled and grouchy, and even more so when the vehicle that pulled up beside him was a motor cycle.

Okay, so he was wet, and it probably wasn't possible that he could get any wetter, but it didn't stop him muttering a whole bevy of obscenities in Russian and Cantonese. When the man on the bike pushed the visor back from his face, Alex knew he had to go with him, because the face beneath it took his breath away. If Alex could have gone back in time to the year when Fox Mulder was twenty, this was how he must have looked. The youngster's eyes were shadowed, but the generous nose was there, and the succulent mouth. The expression was one that he'd seen Mulder wear so many times that it felt almost like coming home as he heard the kid say, "Well, are you gonna keep walking, or do you want a ride?"

"Thanks," Alex gritted, hopping onto the back of the Harley and pressing in as close as he could against the young man, hoping to shield himself from the worst of the weather by cowering behind him.

The rain stung his bare hands like needles and soaked through his pants until his legs were numb under its lash. When the bike turned off the highway into a driveway, he was too cold and miserable to even protest. He even breathed a sigh of relief when the rider ran his bike in through the door of a lean-to shed that loomed like a haven in the headlamps, seen hazily through the silver-grey of the rain.

He was stiff, sore and frozen, and he had to make a couple of attempts before he managed to dismount. He was shivering, teeth chattering, and the young man eyed him for a moment, took off his helmet and slung it over the handlebar, nodded and said, "Come on."

There was a door in the corner, and it became apparent as his rescuer unlocked it, that it was a way into a house. They entered the kitchen. Alex was just so happy to be out of the rain that he didn't really take in the state of it, but it was clearly not in a good way. Tiles were cracked or missing, and the linoleum was worn through in places. There were cupboard doors missing too, and elderly appliances loomed in the darkness.

The kid turned to Alex. "You might want to lose the wet clothes. You want a hot shower? This is a squat, but you're all right for tonight, and tomorrow I'm going down to Tahoe if you want a ride.

Thawed out enough to start shivering, Alex's teeth had begun to chatter so hard that he couldn't get any words out. He nodded and followed the youngster out of the dilapidated kitchen and into a shabby living room.

There was a fire in the fireplace, and the room itself was warm. Candles and one oil lamp provided all the illumination, and the soft light left more shadows than brightness, lending the down-at-heel place a romantic look that Alex was convinced was spurious. He was shivering in earnest now, body shaking itself apart, skin stinging as he began to recover feeling in his limbs.

"Come on." The kid was unzipping his leather jacket, pulling off his scarf and gauntlets and tossing them onto the worn and dilapidated couch that was the only piece of furniture in the room. "Bathroom's this way." He grabbed a candle as he made his way through the room.

"Michael?" A dark haired youngster stuck his tousled head out of one of the doors as they made their way up the stairs, stifling a yawn that betrayed the fact that he'd been sleeping.

"S'okay, Maxwell. It's just a stray. I'll take him away again tomorrow." The boy — Michael — reached the top of the staircase and led them down a passage, shoved open the door at the end and pointed. "Take a shower. I'll find you a towel and a couple blankets. We can get your stuff dry while we sleep."

Nodding, Alex started to take off his sopping wet clothes, so cold that he didn't care that Michael was lounging in the doorway, apparently taking in his pathetic, one armed state. He was too cold and exhausted to care, leaned in and turned on the water with palsied hands. He felt the gush of icy cold water and jumped back.

The young man stepped in close and laid his hand on the water pipe as if to steady himself, then grinned. "It takes a minute to warm up. It'll be okay."

Nodding, Alex waited. Somehow he doubted it in a house lit by candles and oil lamps, but maybe they had a gas heater. He'd see.

Seconds later, the water began to steam. He looked back at Michael, but the boy was apparently in a world of his own, brow furrowed in concentration. He stepped in under the spray and the first few jets of blessed warmth hit him. The shower cubicle wasn't the cleanest he'd ever seen, but that shower stayed in his mind for years afterwards, because nothing in his life had ever felt so good before that day.

The warmth of the water seeped into his bones, and although Alex feared that it would turn cold and run out before he was ready, it didn't. By the time he stepped out again his shivering had died down, and his skin was pink again.

Michael had remained standing, hand absently caressing the pipes, but now he straightened up and nodded. "Be right back," he murmured, leaving the room and returning a couple of minutes later bearing towels. "Here," he said, and turned to go.

"Hey, wait." Alex was draping a towel around him, one corner held in his teeth as his one remaining hand did the job. "I didn't say thank you. You've been kind."

Turning to look at him, Michael said nothing, but after a moment he nodded and then picked up Alex's soaking wet clothing. "I'll go get these drying. Give me a minute, and I'll bring you a blanket."

Later, wrapped in a blanket and a pair of sweats that might once have been cream but now rather more resembled camo, Alex sat in front of the fire with his rescuer and the other boy, who he'd learned was named Max, and felt himself drowsing. He'd had a shock, and he really didn't know what to do to save his alliance with the rebels, but for now he could pretend that there were no aliens in the world and just be himself with these two kids.

"What happened to your arm?" The dark haired boy named Max reached over to pass him a beer, and he took it gratefully, chugging it so that half was gone in an instant.

"I was traveling in Russia," said Alex, temporarily imagining that he could be just another guy having a beer with friends. "Some ignorant fucking peasants thought I needed a manicure."

"You're kidding, right?" Michael sat up straight, met his eyes with suspicion. "Nobody does that kind of thing except in really bad horror flicks."

"And yet I have no left arm," murmured Alex. "It's true. There was some camp nearby that was taking the able bodied men. They left anyone that wasn't quite able bodied, and the fuckers thought that they were saving me."

They'd discussed man's inhumanity to man — Alex detected bitterness in his hosts, more so in the boy called Michael than in Max. They'd avoided answering his questions about how come they were living in a dilapidated farmhouse that apparently had no power to it. Alex had shrugged philosophically. He sure as hell wasn't going to tell them chapter and verse of his life, so why should he expect them to cough up their secrets?

He studied Michael after his fourth beer had gone to glory. He'd offered to go fetch the next round, but Max had shaken his head and reached to pluck the empty from his hands. Then he had taken the bottle into the kitchen, reappearing with yet another.

Murmuring his thanks, he'd kept looking at Michael. "You know, you look so much like someone I used to know." Still know, much good it does me. Alex reached, sloppy from the beer and reached to touch the young man's lips. "He loved me once."

"Yeah?" His words brought a twisted smile to Michael's lips. "Sorry about that."

"Me too." There seemed nothing more to be said, and the evening continued.

They'd drunk more beer - a lot of beer - and eaten pizza that Max had apparently made while he was in the shower. They'd talked of nothing in particular, and the fire had burned low while the candles were beginning to gutter. Alex was warm and content, and he felt his eyes drifting closed as he leaned against Michael.

The young man had looked a little startled at first, but as Alex's head had dropped against his shoulder he'd smiled a lop-sided smile and allowed the contact.

Alex was drifting in and out of sleep, and somehow, fueled by the exhaustion in his bones, his dreaming mind decided that this youngster was Mulder as he should have been. He'd turned his face in to nuzzle Michael's neck when he was awakened. Michael was shaking his shoulder. "Come on, buddy. You're ready for sleep; I can tell.

They'd dispersed, Max to another room, and Michael upstairs, coming back a few moments later with another blanket, a pillow, and his now dry clothing. "Guess you can sleep on the couch. Tomorrow I'll give you a ride out of here."

Nodding his thanks and trying his damnedest to put those luscious lips out of his mind, Alex took the offered bedding and watched as Michael went to join Max, wherever he'd gone.

The sound of the storm lulled Alex to sleep at last, rain slashing at the window panes and wind howling around the house provided a weird lullaby. Oddly enough, it was the silence that woke him some time before the dawn. The rain had stopped and the wind had dropped. There was the faintest of glows on the skyline, and the day seemed poised to begin.

Alex knelt beside the window for a while. There were no sounds to be heard elsewhere in the house, and after a few moments he made a decision. Rising to his feet, he dressed quickly. He wasn't at all sure how they'd dried his clothing the night before, but there was no vestige of the damp in them now.

He made his way out through the kitchen, taking in the three empty beer bottles that stood on the table, and the one other that was sitting in the cracked, dirty porcelain sink. A thought occurred to him, and he pulled open the fridge. It was empty and black with mold, and he closed the door again swiftly. There was no food here, and no case of beer. He began to wonder just how they'd provided him with refreshments the night before, and frowned. He didn't believe in magic.

Leaving by the back door took him back into the shed, and he admired the sleek Harley that was propped on its stand. The boys had been kind to him, but he was in a hurry, and, honestly, Tahoe was the last place he wanted to go. He fumbled through his pockets and wrote Michael a note to tell him that he'd leave the Harley at the next truck stop. He left the keys on the kitchen counter, weighing down the message and quickly hotwired the bike. Wheeling it out of the shed, he turned his face towards the rising sun and turned the engine over. A moment later he was on his way to find the fucker who'd stolen the embryo. Things were looking up.

Ride 5

It was done and over. The set-up had worked well enough to fool Mulder, and now he could walk away from the whole fucking mess that the X-Files had become. He hated AD Skinner, but he'd swallowed that hatred in order to do what needed to be done, and when Mulder had finally left, convinced that he was dead, he'd opened his eyes and looked up at Skinner with a defiant smirk.

"The Palm Pilot is in your office on your desk," he'd said, unsure whether he'd get a real bullet to the head this time rather than the blank that Skinner had aimed at him a few minutes prior.

"Just get out of my sight, Krycek," growled the Assistant Director. "If I ever see or hear of you again, I will blow your two faces to kingdom come."

For once he hadn't said a word, merely turned and walked away, feeling the itch between his shoulder blades warn him that Skinner was considering shooting him anyway.

Outside the parking garage he made his way to his own car, hidden behind the dilapidated doors of a rundown garage. He breathed a sigh of relief when he reached it and found that it hadn't been tampered with. He'd packed everything he was taking with him earlier, and stowed it all in the trunk, and now all he had to do was drive away to his new life.

He took his wallet out of his pocket and leafed through, pulling out the ID that referred to him as Alex Krycek, and tossing it into a corner of the concrete workshop. Opening the car door, he peered in, then pulled the glove compartment open, extracting the new driver's license that named him as one Thomas Foss. There were other papers, which he pocketed, and then, on a whim, he popped the hood and peered in.

And there it was, as he'd feared, or almost. The bomb was wired to a timer, rather than the ignition as he'd thought would be the case, and Alex could only conclude that Skinner had wanted him to be outside the city before it went off. He wondered whether he should drive off in it and give the Assistant Director a thrill, but then decided against that. Skinner could make his own fun.

Bending with a smile, he tweaked the timer, reducing the time on the clock from two hours to two minutes. Once he'd done that, he pulled a backpack from the trunk and left the garage.

He'd not gone very far when it blew, and the blast knocked him off his feet. Laughing like a fool he clambered up again and turned away. Alex Krycek was dead. Long live Tom Foss.

Now all he had to do was reach Seattle in time.

Columbus, Indianapolis, Cedar Rapids and Des Moines were all blurs. It was when he hit Nebraska that he found himself walking again, long, straight, dusty roads lined with cornfields. He wondered if there were any hive ships stashed away around there. It was exactly the kind of place that the rebels favored, not too many people and the ones that were in the area focused on the farms.

He'd never really liked Nebraska, and he knew for sure that if you built it they would come. He also knew that you'd be fucking sorry you'd built it when they did. He'd spent most of his recent years trying to stop people building things to bring them, and now he was ready for a new kind of occupation.

It seemed as if he'd walked for hours, and he was hot, thirsty and starting to get tired. The only vehicle to pass him by in the last couple of hours had been an elderly John Deere, driven by a vacant looking youth chewing a straw. When he finally heard an engine approaching, he stuck his thumb out almost desperately.

The vehicle that rattled past him and stopped didn't fill him with any kind of confidence, although it was moving, which was about the only positive he could summon up as he surveyed the elderly, shit-colored pick-up truck that had stopped for him.

It's better than nothing, he told himself as he ran to catch up with the old truck.

"Hop in." Alex had expected some gap toothed farmer with straw in his hair and a tobacco chewing habit. He was not prepared for the vision that greeted him - Long hair, plaid button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the tails hanging loose, worn blue jeans with holes in the knees, cowboy boots, earrings, even. Alex gave him a pleased smile. Piercing blue eyes surveyed him, and a sensual mouth smiled back as the driver greeted him. "Time's a-wasting. Don't wanna hang around this wasteland for much longer than we have to."

"You're not wrong." Alex favored the newcomer with a grateful nod as he clambered into the cab and stowed his backpack on the floor at his feet. "You don't see too many of these things around. What the hell is it?"

"Hey, Bessie is not an it." The driver cast an amused look at Alex and caressed the truck's dash affectionately. "This here is a 1956 Ford F-100 pick-up, and she's my best girl."

"And yet you call her Bessie?" Alex was laughing now, settling back into the seat with a sigh of contentment.

"Nothing wrong with the name Bessie," smirked the man, casting a sideways glance at him and holding out his hand. "It's a good, workmanlike name. Suits her. I'm Lindsey. How far you going, cowboy?"

"Tom Foss," answered Alex, shaking the extended hand briefly. "Going to Seattle. My car blew up on me back a ways, and I figured I was better off without the damned thing." And wasn't that the truth? he asked himself, amused.

"I can take you as far as Salt Lake City", murmured Lindsey, after some thought. "I'm heading on down to LA myself. Been away a while, but I'm fixing to address some things that I've left undone for far too long." He cast a sideways glance at Alex from under long, thick eyelashes and gave that smirk again. Alex knew there and then that this man was a player. He gave a slow smile. This was going to be fun.

The truck didn't do any great speed, but it didn't matter. It took them the rest of the day to cross Nevada, and Lindsey proved to be an interesting conversationalist. The time didn't drag, and after a while, he turned on the radio, singing along to some of the music. Later, when the hour was drawing late, and there were only talk shows to be found, the two of them sang together, and the radio was turned off. Alex was tempted to ride down to Los Angeles with this man just for the hell of it. By the time they halted for the night, Alex knew that Lindsey was a lawyer, and Lindsey knew that Alex had been in the FBI, but was no longer interested in pursuing that as a career.

They stopped outside Cheyenne, and Lindsey turned to Alex. "You wanna share, or you want to get your own room? I'm easy."

"Me too. Real easy." The invitation in Alex's voice was subtle, but Lindsey picked up on it right away and nodded, lips pursed as he considered.

"Works for me," he said, grinning. "If it ain't easy it ain't worth taking."

They booked one room and then went looking for a bar that served food. Alex felt liberated, freer than he'd felt since he was in high school. He'd shed Alex Krycek's bad luck and was about to make a new life. Lindsey was a good companion and he'd got a new job to prepare for. He'd left Mulder behind with the bad memories, and although that was a pain he had to live with, he was healing already.

They found a karaoke bar and ate nachos there, washed them down with beers, and then shots, and finally ended up on stage doing a spirited version of "Stand By Your Man" that had both of them in paroxysms of laughter.

Song followed song, and drink chased drink. By the time they stumbled back to the motel room they were boisterously drunk and convinced that they were soul mates.

In any event, it was Lindsey who pulled Alex down and kissed him, and Alex who moaned and went with it, lips parting without a thought as he gave the other man access to whatever he wanted.

When the clothes started to fly, Lindsey appeared surprised at Alex's fake arm. "That's too bad, man. How'd you lose it?" Alex gave him the story he'd perfected for publication, bored with the need to relate it, but knowing that he liked Lindsey enough to want to keep him sweet.

"Going to have to think about this," murmured Lindsey, studying the stump where Alex's left arm had once been, and for a moment Alex thought that he would be sleeping alone that night after all, but then Lindsey dived in, licking and biting, and there was no longer any doubt about how he was going to spend the rest of the night.

Backing the pair of them up against the bed so that they fell, Lindsey's mouth sucked avidly on the tender skin of Alex's neck as they went down. There were lumps in the mattress, and the bed creaked alarmingly, but the two of them were unfazed. "Come here," Lindsey growled as he moved to press himself against Alex's skin, and Alex found himself wanting desperately to feel him, eager beneath the shorter man's searching lips and trembling, urgent hands.

He decided that Lindsey was wearing way too many clothes, and he undertook to set that right, running his hands up under the cambric shirt Lindsey wore to slide over slick, smooth skin and burying his mouth into the angle of Lindsey's neck. He tasted of sweat and the tequila they'd been drinking, and he heard a groan that seemed to be ripped from deep inside Lindsey's chest. Alex lay beneath him, pressing up against his length. He could feel Lindsey thrusting against him in wicked counterpoint to his own urgent motion.

Clothes flew, bodies pressed tight to each other, and there seemed to be an unspoken, mutual agreement that Lindsey, fierce and ardent, would be on top. Alex didn't mind. The man was handsome enough, knew what he was doing, and it had been a while since he'd let someone take care of him. He was rather enjoying it.

"Pretty blue eyes," he murmured, cupping Lindsey's cheek and studying his face as if committing it to memory. "I'm a sucker for pretty blue eyes." He sucked one of his fingers into his mouth and used it to trace over Lindsey's nipple as he lifted his head to claim a kiss. His fingers traced the thick black tattoo that began at his left nipple and curled, hook like across Lindsey's chest to spread over him with a strange air of menace about it.

There was no romance to their encounter. Lindsey's eyes glittered grey-blue, cut glass through which flared desire, superheated and honest. Recognizing a kindred soul, Alex smirked. "You wanna do it? Do anything you like? I'm ready."

Proving his point, he leaned in ‘til they were mouth on mouth again. Alex's hand found its way into Lindsey's hair, burrowing there in the thickness of it. A foot wrapped around Lindsey's waist to find the curve of his backside and trace it, molding the swelling of taut buttocks as Alex pulled his lover in to lie pressed tightly along his eager body.

Alex could feel the growth of Lindsey's erection as it stiffened and lengthened, pressed in against his belly. The thought of it turned his insides molten and drew his balls up tight in anticipation.

He felt Lindsey, moaning a little now, sucking and nibbling on his tongue. He could feel the heaving of Lindsey's chest as his fingers shaped around a nipple, plucking it and rolling it between finger and thumb. The groan that followed might have been from either of them. It found a resonance inside them both, a fluttering that snaked through Alex as Lindsey's hand fumbled down to find and hold their two dicks, working them together.

The little lawyer knew what he was doing. Alex found himself losing control, lying back to give it up, opening himself without a word and taking it, taking it all. He'd been running for so long, and now he was marking time, finding out who he could become. Lindsey, fierce and toppy as he was, was just the man to teach him how to reach the place he wanted to go.

The world pulled in then, stretching around him like a cocoon, insulating him from everything in his past, cushioning him and drawing in until all he could see was the man owning him. Alex tried to pull away for a moment, studying Lindsey as he crouched, flushed and panting above him. His lips were pink and swollen from kissing, his tongue tip glistened between strong white teeth as it moistened them and oh, my holy God, he was gorgeous.

It felt good — better than good. Lindsey filled him, sturdy body holding him together, ice blue eyes darkening as they bored into his. "Gonna get you there, don't you worry. Just let me get you there…"

Letting go at last, Alex allowed himself to trust — to trust at least that Lindsey would get him off. It didn't take long, and he was coming, racked with the explosion of sensation that tightened every muscle and sent him shuddering into bliss.

Relaxing later, the two of them lay in bed swapping stories, Lindsey finally broached the topic of Alex's missing arm. "Been thinking," said the lawyer, scratching his flat belly thoughtfully. "I kinda like you, Tom. You're like me. I can see it in your eyes. You've got ambition to rise above what you were born with. Am I right?"

"That's for sure," nodded Alex. "You want anything, you have to take it for yourself."

"You got anywhere to be in the next week or so?" The question was uttered softly, and Alex's eyes flew to Lindsey's face, taking in the flush that colored him.

"I'm due to start work pretty soon. Got a case in Seattle that I need to monitor, but I don't have to any particular time I need to show up." Alex frowned, pondering the implications of the question. "Why do you ask?"

"Suppose I told you that there was a job waiting for you at my company, and that I could get your arm back for you?" Lindsey was no longer completely relaxed, although he was trying to look that way. Alex could feel him vibrating under the casual pose he'd adopted. Rolling onto his side to face Lindsey, Alex gave him a smile.

"Guess it wouldn't hurt to go see what the job entailed. I really don't think that it's reasonable to expect to get my arm back, but I deserve a break anyway. I've been traveling for a long time." He gave Lindsey a grin. "You're a good fuck, even if your taste in vehicles leaves something to be desired, so I may as well come along for the ride, although the talk of getting my arm back sounds a bit too much like magic to me."

"Oh, you have no idea, Tom. No idea at all," was Lindsey's response as he settled down to sleep.

Alex thought that was it for the night, but he heard the lawyer's voice murmur softly a few minutes later. "But you will, my dear Tom. You will."

---

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